One Week on an Island
by JadziaKathryn
Summary: Some people would consider it a vacation. Malcolm isn't one of them. Now complete!
1. Day One

A/N: This story has as a background an established Trip/T'Pol romance.

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

**Day One**

"I assure you, we have no hostile intentions," repeated T'Pol for the third time. Malcolm groaned inwardly. Apparently this species' language was close to one they'd encountered, because the UT was having only minimal problems. Unfortunately, it was doing them no good whatsoever.

The alien ship fired. Malcolm had been expecting that, and quickly dropped the shuttlepod into a dive. All they wanted to do was study this comet, which had unusually high metallic content. _Enterprise_ was already gone and had been out of communications range for several hours, off to trade with the Belosians.

"They've got twice as much firepower as we do," he announced, swinging the shuttle around but unable to completely evade the second shot. "I'm returning fire, but the chances of winning are slim."

"We will retreat towards the nearest solar system. One of the fourth planet's moons is inhabitable. It would be advisable to continue firing while we retreat."

Malcolm nodded, and T'Pol took over navigation. He decided not to point out that these aliens – whose name he couldn't begin to pronounce – might not give them the chance to retreat. If they couldn't deal with other people looking at 'their' comet without shooting at them, why let people escape alive? However, he didn't have a better plan, so he held his tongue and concentrated on firing.

"That was close," he commented. "They almost knocked out our engine." T'Pol had jerked the shuttlepod up at the last moment, which skewed the aliens' aim.

"Long-range communications are down," she announced. Malcolm wasn't too concerned about that, because long-range communications hadn't been doing them any good anyway.

"Are we getting close?" he asked as they took another hit."

"Yes. We will reach the moon in three minutes."

Three minutes. He could hold them off for three minutes. Clenching his teeth, Malcolm fired three successive volleys at the same spot. After a moment, Shuttlepod Two shook with the impact of return fire. T'Pol managed to avoid more shots than the alien pilot, which was probably the only thing giving them a chance.

"I don't know how much longer weapons are going to last!"

"Two minutes until we reach the moon," replied T'Pol.

He got off another shot, hitting their engines but not doing much damage. The next shot only grazed the top of their hull.

A terrible shaking heralded the end of weapons. "Weapons are down."

"As are the engines," she replied. "Navigation is still operational."

"They're actually pulling back." Malcolm hadn't been so glad that his pessimism was proven wrong since – well, since the last time he was certain he would die.

"Preparing to enter the moon's atmosphere. Navigation is beginning to fail."

"Can you make it?" he asked, furiously trying to contain the damage.

"Yes. However, it will be what Ensign Mayweather considers a 'rough ride.'"

He managed to stop a power surge while T'Pol brought the shuttlepod down. It was certainly a rough ride, but Malcolm was too busy with his damage control to pay much attention.

"I have located a small island that we will be able to land on with minimal damage."

"Island?" he gulped. Two words that Malcolm Reed never wanted to hear together were 'small' and 'island,' particularly with the phrase 'land on.'

"Yes. Brace for impact."

He braced very hard with one hand while trying to supply navigation with ample power with the other. Consciously, he did not look up.

"Navigation is failing," announced T'Pol.

_Oh, no you don't_, thought Malcolm. Navigation could not fail when they were trying to land on a small island. If sheer willpower could've maintained navigation, there would not have been any failure at all. He rerouted power from life support, but the damaged relays that fed navigation lost half of it.

"I'm giving you everything we've got."

"Landing in thirty seconds."

There was nothing at all that Malcolm could do now. It was getting warm, and sweat trailed down the back of his neck. He held on to his useless console.

Under the conditions, T'Pol landed the shuttlepod admirably. They landed hard, but most definitely on land. Malcolm suppressed the urge to hug her, after he started breathing again.

"I'm re-establishing life support, but I don't know how long it will last without a serious overhaul."

"Do you have the necessary components?" she asked.

"Yes and no."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"Officially, no, I don't. However, if I take a few shortcuts and use parts from a tricorder, I can manage it."

"Has Commander Tucker been teaching you his 'tricks?'"

For the first time since they encountered the aliens, Malcolm smiled. "Yes." After a moment he decided to venture a personal question. "You're basically married to him and you're still calling him 'Commander Tucker?'"

"I endeavor to keep my personal life separate from my personal life."

"Oh." Malcolm was glad the two of them had finally gotten it together. As for himself, he couldn't deny that T'Pol was attractive, and he considered her a friend, but there was something undeniably special about what she and Trip shared. Malcolm hoped that some day he might find that special something with someone else, but he harbored no romantic thoughts about T'Pol.

"For future reference, Trip and I are married, by Vulcan standards."

"Right. I'll get to work on the life support. I don't think we'll need it on this island, but I'd like to have it in case."

"Very well. I will attempt to repair the communications system, as the engines are beyond repair." That was certainly true. Trip could most likely repair them back on _Enterprise_, but Malcolm and T'Pol didn't have anywhere near enough spare parts to fix the engines. Communications were a long shot, but there was at least a chance they could be repaired.

"What do we know about this place?" he asked, grabbing a toolkit and pulling out a wrench.

"There are no sentient beings in the solar system. This moon is Minshara-class, inhabited by several varieties of large predators, none of which are on this island."

"You had time to scan for all that?"

"No. That information I gathered when we passed it earlier."

"Oh."

"The island has an area of approximately 2.1 square kilometers…" T'Pol continued.

Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. "What?" he broke in. "You landed on an island that's only 2.1 square kilometers in a heavily damaged shuttlepod?"

"I had originally planned to land on a larger island. However, during our descent I determined that the probability of casualties was much greater if I attempted to land there."

Reminding himself that he was still alive, he forced himself to hold back any telling comments about water. "Impressive piloting," he said instead.

"Thank you."

It took Malcolm almost three hours to repair life support. When they got back to _Enterprise_, it was going to take Trip's team more time to repair life support, as they would have to undo everything Malcolm had just done and then start from scratch. Malcolm's repairs, while not by-the-book, were holding steady. They didn't have any backup system, but since they could breath the air on the moon anyway, that didn't strike Malcolm as much of a problem.

He spent another hour helping T'Pol with communications. They managed to get the short-range system working, but long-range was pretty much a lost cause.

"We've made some progress," he yawned. "Let's see where we are."

T'Pol lifted an eyebrow slightly at his yawn but proceeded to the door, tricorder in hand. Malcolm followed her with his phase pistol. There may not be large predators, but that didn't justify leaving his phase pistol behind.

Shuttlepod Two was sitting on a grassy plain that stretched a dozen meters or so before giving way to a rocky beach. It appeared that they were quite close to the ocean, and Malcolm didn't like how little space had stood between them and landing in the ocean. However, they were on firm ground. Off to the other side, the grass gave way to woodland. The white sun seemed to be going down over the woodland.

"I believe that the sun will set in one hour and fifty minutes." T'Pol was studying her tricorder and pressing various buttons. Malcolm was surveying the landscape with his eyes and trying not to think of how close they'd come to crashing into an alien ocean.

"I think I'll be asleep before then," he admitted. "Your landing is admirable."

"I do not believe we are in danger, however, it will be three days before _Enterprise_ returns to rendezvous."

"And quite possibly longer before they find us. Well, we've got enough ration packs for what, six days?"

"Yes. However, it would be advisable to investigate alternative food sources before then. Tomorrow we can explore this island in greater detail."

Malcolm fervently hoped that T'Pol didn't want to investigate the ocean. She was in command of their botched mission, after all. He didn't think Vulcans generally were much for swimming, which comforted him a little.

Looking at the hull, he scowled. "It's going to take a lot of repairs to make this spaceworthy again."

"I'm sure that Trip will be pleased to repair it where we are. He has a fondness for temperate climates and the ocean."

That was certainly true, Malcolm thought. If there was a chance to go to a beach on shore leave, Trip was certain to take it. He wouldn't mind fixing Shuttlepod Two on the island in the least. Malcolm also noted that T'Pol had used the nickname 'Trip,' which apparently meant she considered the situation informal.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like to eat and then get a little sleep."

T'Pol nodded her consent and they returned to the shuttle. "We will not need to alternate watches, as the only potential danger is the weather, and it would take a storm of great magnitude to move the shuttle or damage it further."

"At which point, we would be up," he concluded.

"Indeed."

"What would you like for dinner? We have pot roast, chicken fingers, vegetarian fried rice, bacon and eggs…" he trailed off to reach further.

"The rice will be fine." Malcolm handed it to her and considered his options. After a moment of indecision, he chose the chicken fingers.

T'Pol handed him a water pouch. "We have enough water to last a week, but we should locate fresh water tomorrow."

He nodded, and they ate in silence. His corn wasn't especially great, but otherwise the ration pack was actually a decent meal. Malcolm ate the corn anyway.

"Well," he said after another yawn, "I'm going to bed. Do you have a preference for a certain bunk?"

"No."

"I don't suppose you're going to bed now, are you?"

"Vulcans require less sleep than humans; however, I intend to meditate."

"Happy meditating, then."

"Sleep well."


	2. Day Two

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm surprised that so many people are interested in this little idea I came up with when I was supposed to be writing a history paper. TLI, you're right. It should've read that she endeavours to keep her personal life separate from her professional life. Good catch!

**Day Two**

Malcolm came out of the aft compartment to find T'Pol working at one of the consoles. "Good morning, Commander." He often had a hard time addressing T'Pol by anything other than her rank, and idly wondered if that bothered her.

"Lieutenant. I trust you had a restful sleep?"

"Yes, thanks."

"It's just to becoming light outside. I have calculated the orbit of the moon around the planet, as well as the orbit of the planet around the sun and the rotation of each around its axis."

"So you know when it's day and night, then."

"Yes. The rotation of the moon allows it to receive sunlight for nearly sixteen hours."

"We'll have plenty of time to look around. You fixed the science station?"

That particular console hadn't taken much damage, but it hadn't been a priority the previous day. Its functions were limited mainly to recording data and processing it with various algorithms.

"There are several more complex algorithms that will have to be reprogrammed, but otherwise I have repaired the damage."

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"I ate a fruit salad after I awoke."

"You're probably not going to want the bacon and eggs, are you?"

"No."

That was good, because he did want them. Malcolm was quite pleased to discover that the jam provided for the toast was strawberry. Often it was grape, his least favorite variety. He wouldn't have minded a cup of tea, but the day was off to a good start nonetheless.

They emptied out both toolkits and went off to explore their surroundings. T'Pol had her tricorder, and Malcolm had his phase pistol. It was holstered, though, so he could hold the empty toolkits. That freed up both of T'Pol's hands for scanning with her tricorder.

"How about these?" Malcolm had found something that looked like fruit on one of the trees. It was slightly over their heads, but T'Pol was able to scan them nonetheless. They looked rather like bananas, although Malcolm had never seen pale blue bananas.

"They contain an acid that would adversely affect your muscle control," she concluded after a moment.

"Can you eat them?"

"A Vulcan has never consumed that acid before, and I would prefer not to experiment on myself."

"A wise precaution," he agreed, trying not to smile too widely.

T'Pol had found small black spheres dangling off vines. "These are suitable for consumption," she announced. Malcolm opened one of the toolkits and they plucked off several spheres. They were firm but definitely fleshy, somewhat like a grape.

"I wonder if they're ripe," he mused.

"Ripeness is a mental construct, determined by societies and individuals."

If it had been anyone but T'Pol, that would've been a scathing rebuke. From her, it was merely a statement of fact. Come to think of it, Malcolm could see her point. "I've never thought of it that way before, but it makes sense," he mused.

"Indeed. For instance, Ensign Sato considers Ensign Mayweather's choices in pears to be 'nowhere near ripe,' while he finds hers to be 'halfway to rotten.'"

Malcolm burst out laughing and nearly dropped the fruit in his hand. "I never knew that!"

"Their debate was quite audible last month."

"I bet it was while I was in Sickbay. I miss a lot of entertaining things that way," he sighed. "Well, I hope that these taste good, whatever they are." He popped one in his mouth. "A little sour, but not bad."

After one toolkit was full of the spherical berries, they continued walking around the edge of the woods. On the other side of the island, it looked pretty much like it did on the side the shuttlepod was on. The beach was a bit sandier, though.

They'd found a small stream running down to the ocean, and after scanning it T'Pol decided that they ought to boil the water to kill microbes before drinking it. Though they didn't have a pot, Malcolm figured that he could make one with a micro-welder and metal that had been blow off the bulkhead.

T'Pol had just discovered bushes that produced some sort of edible nut when Malcolm decided to survey the edge of the beach for more streams. The tide was receding, and he saw small holes in the wet sand.

Holes in the sand – shellfish! His childhood had been filled with information such as that, and for once Malcolm found it useful. He bent over and started digging in the wet sand. Sure enough, it didn't take long before he felt a shell.

Since his tricorder had been taken apart for repairs, he had to take the prize over to T'Pol for assessment. "Commander," he began, "could I borrow your tricorder?"

T'Pol took one look at his sand-coated hands and scanned the shellfish herself. "It is edible, although I recommend cooking it first."

"I don't suppose you want any."

"The protein in these nuts will be sufficient for my physiology. There is no reason that you ought not to partake in the shellfish, however."

Malcolm didn't need to be told twice. He trotted back over to the sand. There was just one problem: he had nothing else to put the shellfish in. It was nice weather, though, and he didn't really need his uniform jacket. The breeze was warm, so his t-shirt would be enough. That decided, he started digging and piling his quarry on his jacket.

"Lieutenant?" T'Pol said. He looked up. "I believe that you have a sufficient number of shellfish."

He did. There had to be almost two dozen piled on his jacket. T'Pol held both toolkits, filled with nuts and berries. They obviously had enough food.

A return trip was taken after Malcolm finished making two bowls out of the bulkhead metal. They weren't going to win any prizes for beauty, but they were mostly rounded and, if nothing else, waterproof. Each held several liters of water.

Starting a fire wasn't a problem. T'Pol gathered sticks while Malcolm dug a pit, and the quickest flash of a phase pistol lit a nice fire. Malcolm then proceeded to boil his shellfish. Since they had quite a bit of drinking water left, the second bowl of water was used to wash their hands and faces as best they could.

T'Pol peeled the nuts. Malcolm associated cracking, not peeling, with nuts, and made a note to tell Trip about that when the returned. He would surely find it interesting. Since T'Pol wasn't having any shellfish, Malcolm ate only a few nuts. The berries they both ate.

T'Pol had found a microscope that had made it through the crash with little damage. Malcolm wondered when microscopes became standard in shuttlepods, but it must've been after Starfleet learned how often they managed to get marooned on planets. After recalibrating the microscope, she settled in to spend the afternoon studying various plant samples.

That left Malcolm with nothing to do. He spent the first hour or so pretending he could fix long-range communications, and T'Pol thoughtfully didn't remark on the futility of that effort. When he couldn't even fool himself anymore, Malcolm tried to think of an alternate pastime.

_They should give us a novel or two in here_, he thought to himself. From now on he was taking one on away missions.

He walked along the beach where the sand was damp but not extremely wet. A broken shell was lying on the sand, and that gave him an idea. It was not terribly productive, but it was something to do.

When he returned, he set several carefully-selected shells and rocks down and then sat next to T'Pol in the shuttlepod's shadow. She had her tricorder, a padd, and many plants off to the side, but his collection caused her to raise an eyebrow.

"I haven't done this since I was a kid," he commented.

"What activity are you referring to?"

"I'm making arrowheads." Chipping away from the shell with a rock, he began to create a point.

"I believe that a phase pistol would be a more effective weapon."

"It's more for something to do than a weapon."

"I see." He wasn't so sure that she did understand, but T'Pol went back to her microscope and he kept chipping.

They passed the time that way until it was time for dinner, which came from ration packs again. Malcolm took a pot roast and T'Pol had a baked stuffed potato. They still had a couple hours of daylight left after that, but Malcolm was tired of chipping his arrowhead.

"Perhaps we should examine the shoreline more carefully," she suggested.

The idea didn't thrill Malcolm, but he nodded and went along. "You don't swim, do you?" he asked.

"I have been instructed in the basics should the situation arise, but I find swimming to be less than pleasant. Do you want to swim?"

"Not particularly. I'm not that fond of swimming either."

T'Pol took scans with her tricorder, and Malcolm tried not to think about how much water there was off to his side. He discovered two varieties of snails, a large piece of driftwood, and a particularly flat rock which he managed to skip twice. If he'd gone closer to the waterline, it probably would've skipped three times.

Their side of the beach had more rocks than the other, but no streams and only a few holes that might signify shellfish. When the sun edged near the horizon, he suggested that they head back.

"The sun is still providing ample light," replied T'Pol. "I estimate that we can continue for ten minutes before turning around."

"Trip'll have my head if he finds out that I watched a sunset on the beach with you before he has."

"This is a romantic scenario?"

"Usually," he mumbled.

"If Trip were to decapitate you, _Enterprise_ would suffer from lack of your expertise, and I would not enjoy visiting him in prison. Perhaps it is best to return to the shuttlepod."

Malcolm smiled at her tactful consideration of his discomfort. Who said Vulcans couldn't understand humor?


	3. Day Three

**Day Three**

After ration packs for breakfast, Malcolm decided that he hadn't fully appreciated Chef's talents before. T'Pol intended to inform Captain Archer that more vegetarian meals should be included in the ration packs once they returned.

On the morning agenda was exploring the wooded area on the island. It was not very large, but had different plants and, above all, it was something to do.

The shade was refreshing to Malcolm, although he thought T'Pol preferred the open sun. She was interested in the ecosystem, however, and found plenty of things to scan. One of the empty toolkits had been designated to hold samples, which she intended to study later. Malcolm brought one of the bowls and the other toolkit.

"Intriguing," she said from a hunched position. "The flowers on this contain an enzyme that is a known sedative."

"Phlox would love that." A flower would be an improvement over many of the doctor's effective but unpleasant remedies.

"The quantity is too small to be medically useful."

Meanwhile, Malcolm had found a root protruding that had teeth marks from some sort of rodent. He pulled it up. "Do you think we could eat this?"

"There are no toxins in the stem, which is fortunate since you have it firmly grasped in your hands, and not all toxins require ingestion. The root is edible, although we should find another specimen."

"One of our own?"

"Yes."

He found several whole roots easily and was observing the birds while T'Pol found a new variety of berries. They had a compound that T'Pol couldn't identify, which ruled out eating them.

He bent over to pull up another root when he saw a spring that gurgled out into a small stream. "T'Pol."

"Yes?"

"There's a spring here." He proceeded to fill the metal bowl with water and wash the roots in it.

T'Pol startled a small rodent while walking over, and the disoriented creature ran into Malcolm's leg before turning and careening off in another direction.

"We've found another animal," he remarked.

"There appear to be fewer animals on this island than I had anticipated."

"Maybe they're nocturnal."

"I believe that there are nocturnal species, as I heard a bird calling to its mate last night."

"Owls," supplied Malcolm, who had always admired the stealthy birds.

She scanned the plants that were growing around the base of a tree next to the spring. "The flowers of this plant are high in vitamins," she declared. "However, we must take care to leave enough flowers to adequately reproduce."

"I think I'll leave that balancing act to you."

While T'Pol harvested some of the flowers, Malcolm filled his bowl up with water again and attempted to wash his face and arms. After consideration, he stuck his head in and tried to wash his hair too. There wasn't much risk of drowning in a metal bowl, and he really wanted a shower. Since that wasn't possible, he made do. Sloshing water up his arms, he decided that if he had to do it again, he might want to let the water sit in the sun for a bit first.

"Lieutenant?"

"Would you like a turn?"

She cocked her head to the side, ever so slightly. "I was going to ask if you are proficient in tree-climbing, but I believe I will engage in a similar attempt at hygiene."

He dumped out the water and stuck the bowl in the spring again. "It's rather cold. Why do you ask if I can climb trees?"

"I have been told that this is a common activity for human children."

"I've climbed trees before, but it's been a while."

Looking up, T'Pol asked, "Could you reach the fruit?"

Malcolm followed her gaze. There were green ovals hanging down that, at first glance, blended in with the leaves. He looked at the lower branches. "No. There aren't any branches until halfway up the tree. I think I'd need to be a meter taller."

He took the tricorder and scanner a nearby berry bush of another variety. The berries were strange: two round, yellow berries were connected by a centimeter or so of stem, and then from the connecting stem grew the stem that connected the berries to the rest of the bush. Malcolm hadn't seen anything like it. First he scanned for human physiology, and the berries came up clean. All scans said go for Vulcan physiology, too. He picked some pairs while giving T'Pol time to wash as best as she could.

The toolkit was almost full when T'Pol came up beside him. "The structure of these berries is intriguing," she commented.

"I think we've got plenty of food."

"True."

Filling up the bowl with water, they headed back to their camp back at the shuttle. It was too early to eat, so they put the food in the shuttle and took out their respective projects. T'Pol carefully arranged her plant samples and adjusted the microscope as Malcolm started in on the tip of his shell arrowhead.

T'Pol finished the samples she'd collected as Malcolm chipped notches out of the shell's side. She started to pack the microscope and he suggested lunch.

They ate the roots without cooking them, and much to Malcolm's surprise they had the texture of water chestnuts. No matter how much he chewed, though, the peel would not soften. T'Pol didn't have any more success than he did. Inedible peel aside, though, the roots were good. The vitamin-rich flowers tasted like nothing, but he'd eaten much worse.

Because the roots were quite filling, they saved the berries. With the berries and ration packs, they had plenty for dinner and an afternoon looming ahead with nothing to do.

"It's rather ironic," Malcolm noted, "that we're the ones stuck here. Out of everyone on _Enterprise_, I think we're the two who see the least fun down here."

"You are probably correct. Most of the crew would consider this to be a vacation."

"Not much of a vacation," he sighed.

"If I may inquire, what do you prefer to do on a vacation?"

"I like sightseeing," he replied. "When we have shore leave, I try to visit museums and natural parks. Then there are books; I always enjoy a good book. What about you?"

T'Pol considered the question. "Vulcans have traditionally viewed vacations as unnecessary, but I have come to appreciate the change in routine. However, I find that the most enjoyable aspect is spending time with Trip."

"I can understand that."

"In our current situation, I believe that a session of deep mediation would be most relaxing. I do not often have the time on _Enterprise_."

"Time," sighed Malcolm, "is one thing we have in abundance."

"Do not be surprised if I am unresponsive for several hours."

"What if there's danger?"

"Although we are at little risk, you may touch my shoulder to bring me out of my meditative state if the need arises."

He nodded. "Right."

"Do you have any plans for the afternoon?"

Holding up a padd, he replied, "I'm going to write to my sister. She's always after me to write longer letters."

"That will no doubt be appreciated."

"I'm sure. Is there anything I should be aware of concerning this meditation?" Malcolm never stopped thinking about security and risks. Well, there was that Orion incident where he hadn't been thinking too clearly, but it wasn't entirely his fault. He could hardly be blamed for his biology.

T'Pol stood up and moved towards the hatch. "Nothing that I have not already informed you of."

"I'll see you this evening, then."

"Enjoy the afternoon." With that, she went into the shuttlepod and Malcolm made himself comfortable in the shadow. It was actually quite nice – a warm breeze was blowing, the sun was shining but the shadow protected him from getting too hot, and the grass provided a cushion.

Malcolm had never been much for writing long letters. Except when he and Trip thought that they were going to die and there was nothing else to do, but that was the black sheep among his letter-writing moments. In general they were brief and conveyed little of significance. It was another tradition that Reed men were expected to follow, and he'd held to it even when he'd thoroughly rejected his father's expectations.

_Maddie, I have plenty of time to tell you about _Enterprise_ and my life out here, as I am currently marooned on an island. We're safe and there's plenty of food and water, but there's no hope of fixing the shuttle. That leaves me absolutely nothing to do. Remember when we were younger and I used to chip arrowheads out of shells? I've already finished one. _

After that the words came slowly, but he had all afternoon. Maddie might want him to get marooned more often if it prompted her brother to write long letters.

T'Pol was still in the shuttlepod, presumably meditating, when Malcolm started to get hungry. He ate a root left over from lunch and then started in on the berries. Not long after he ate the first berries, he started to itch. At first he thought it was the grass, but then he popped another berry in his mouth and an idea occurred to him.

"Bloody hell!" He trod angrily into the shuttlepod and reached for T'Pol's tricorder. In a few seconds he changed the profile to a medical scan. It wasn't as in-depth as Phlox could've performed with a medical scanner, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion.

He was glaring at the tricorder as if he could intimidate it into saying something else when T'Pol came out of her meditative trace. "You look ill," she said immediately.

Malcolm's eyes were getting watery, which made it hard to see the readings on the tricorder. "It's those berries."

"You indicated that they are not toxic to the human body."

"They aren't to _most_ human bodies. Mine, however, is in the minority. I've developed an allergic reaction."

She checked the tricorder and selected a hypospray. "This should help, but it would be wise to avoid the berries in the future."

"They're all yours," he said.

"You should not suffer any long-term effects."

Malcolm walked toward the aft compartment to lie down. He wasn't feeling particularly well, and the hypospray had probably contained at least some variety of mild sedative. "It could be worse." After a moment he realized that _Enterprise _was scheduled to rendezvous with them about an hour ago. "Trip's probably worried sick about you by now."

"On the contrary, he is aware that I am in no imminent danger."

He stopped and considered that. "Does this have anything to do with your Vulcan marriage?"

"Yes," answered T'Pol, "and I would prefer that you not share this information." The look on her face didn't invite any further questions.

Privacy was something that Malcolm understood, and it was a sign of friendship and respect that T'Pol told him as much as she did. He considered it an honor.

"Your secret's safe with me. I just have one question: does this mean that Trip will know where to find us?"

"No. That is too specific."

"Pity." That was obviously the end of the conversation. Malcolm yawned. "I think I'll go to bed early." His eyes were watering and his skin itched like mad. Sleep would be welcome.

"Sleep well," said T'Pol as he settled into the aft compartment. He would have liked to consider what T'Pol had revealed about her relationship with Trip, but the sedative was stronger than his curiosity, and before Malcolm could think about anything, he was asleep.


	4. Day Four

**Day Four**

Malcolm awoke to see T'Pol straightening the blanket on her bunk. "Good morning," she greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Like my skin's been stretched out." Examining his arms, he didn't find any visible side effects of the reaction.

"You've only been asleep for nine and a half hours."

"Only?" He never slept for more than seven and a half hours unless Phlox got to him. A circumstance that Malcolm tried to avoid, but he still landed in Sickbay far too often for his liking. It was an occupational hazard.

"It was not a short-term sedative. I'm surprised that you are awake now."

"I'm just full of surprises," he muttered, pulling himself up to a seated position.

T'Pol handed him a water pouch. "I would not recommend eating for another two hours."

"No worries there. I'm not the least bit hungry." She scanned him. "Am I clean?"

"You are suffering residual effects from the allergic reaction. I can't be sure how long it will take for them to subside."

"What's your best guess?" Half of him really didn't want to know, but he asked anyway.

"Four to five hours."

Malcolm put his head in his hands. It was going to be a very, very long morning. An ache had settled into his skin, and he discovered that pressing his head into his hands did not help.

"It rained while you slept," commented T'Pol. "One of the bowls was still outside and is now full of fresh water. Perhaps you would find it refreshing."

He thought that was thoughtful, and opened the hatch. "It's still cloudy," he remarked. "I wonder if it'll rain again."

She stepped out after him with both empty toolkits. "I intend to collect berries."

"The other ones, right?"

"If you are referring to the berries that you likened to grapes, then yes." He didn't want another batch of the nasty berries.

"I suppose it's safe to go alone," he mused.

"We have seen no danger thus far, but I am taking a phase pistol as a precaution." He noticed that she also had a communicator and her tricorder.

"I'm going to find something that could be considered productive." T'Pol nodded in response, and walked off.

Malcolm felt a bit better after rinsing off, although he really wanted a shower. T'Pol's bright blue suit enabled him to see her, as she didn't go into the woods. He allowed himself to speculate for a few moments on her marriage to Trip and the psychic connection it seemed to entail. Unable to imagine it and with no details, he reminded himself that it wasn't really any of his business and looked around for something to do.

He'd finished his arrowhead, but that was frankly not very productive, since they had phase pistols. Besides, holding the rock and shell would only aggravate his skin. As much as he wanted to get the long-range communications up, that task was impossible. There wasn't anything else that could be done to repair the shuttle's major systems until they had the resources of _Enterprise_.

On the other hand, he might be able to get a minor system or two working. At the very least, it was something to do. Noting T'Pol, still picking berries, he decided that she was safe and went inside.

Then he came right back outside. He was the Head of Security, and he wouldn't let someone go off alone on an unknown island. Just because they hadn't run into danger yet didn't mean that there was no danger. Besides, he'd promised Trip that he'd watch out for T'Pol. (Trip always did that before T'Pol went on an away mission, unbeknownst to her.)

So he settled against the shuttle and began composing his mission report. T'Pol would return shortly, and there was plenty of time to look at the shuttle again.

"I see you found something productive to do," she announced upon her return.

Malcolm tried to act like he hadn't been watching her the whole time. "We're both going to have reports to write, so I decided I'd start on mine. I've just finished listing the damage to the shuttle."

"That must be a long list."

He sighed. "Yes. How was berry-picking?"

"My expedition was a success. In addition to the berries, I harvested nuts."

"Excellent foraging."

"Thank you."

"I think I may be able to repair the maneuvering thrusters. It's not going to get us off this island without the engines, but it would be less work for Engineering when we get back." Of course T'Pol knew the other motive: something to do.

"This will not be one of your creative repairs?"

Smiling, Malcolm shook his head. "No, this will be by the book."

"Do you need assistance?"

"I'll be alright, thanks. There's no reason you can't keep putting samples under that microscope."

She nodded. "I believe that I will study the sand and soil today."

T'Pol was engrossed in her samples when Malcolm's appetite returned. He checked the chronometer and discovered that he was well beyond T'Pol's two-hour suggestion. It still felt like his skin had been stretched, but the sensation was fading. Besides, he was good at ignoring pain when he had something to occupy his attention.

He walked through a maze of thruster parts and picked up the top few ration packs. Lasagna – no, there were more breakfast meals left. A turkey dinner – no, still not breakfast. A bagel – no, he'd better leave that for T'Pol. A ham and cheese omelet – yes, that would do nicely.

Omelet in one hand and water in the other, Malcolm walked out and found T'Pol noting something on her padd. "Are you hungry?"

"I will finish these berries," she said after a minute. He saw the offensive berries that had caused so much trouble and scowled. T'Pol had obviously eaten some earlier, and it made perfect sense not to waste them, but Malcolm would've found it more satisfying to throw them as far as he could.

"This is a decent omelet," he commented. "I didn't think there would be much ham."

She didn't have any response to the ham comment. "Are you making satisfactory progress on the maneuvering thrusters?"

"So far I've taken them apart."

"Trip is fond of reminding Engineering that nearly everyone can take equipment apart, but it takes skill to reassemble the components."

Malcolm had heard Trip say that once or twice, and he nodded. T'Pol missed Trip, although she would not admit it in such a straightforward manner.

T'Pol drained the water out of the bowl and began picking berries off the stems. He took another bite of the omelet. The rising tide could be heard crashing onto the shore in the background, but Malcolm tried not to focus on that.

He'd finished the omelet and T'Pol was down to the last few berry sets when they felt the first raindrops. "We should bring our food and equipment in the shuttlepod," she declared, carefully picking up the microscope and bringing it in.

Malcolm brought the food in, dumping the few remaining allergy-causing berries on the ground in order to leave both bowls out to catch water. The rain got heavier quite rapidly, and the drops were falling steadily by the time he and T'Pol had all their provisions in.

"It's raining cats and dogs!" exclaimed Malcolm as he looked out the window. "That came on fast." He'd thought that perhaps he could take a shower of sorts before, but the pounding would not help his sore skin, so the idea had to be discarded.

"Do you know the origins of that phrase?"

"'Raining cats and dogs?'"

She nodded. "Trip was unable to explain, and your use of the phrase reminded me that I never received a satisfactory explanation."

"I'm not sure about the specifics," he conceded, "but it has something to do with cities on Earth hundreds of years ago. When it rained hard, like this, stray cats and dogs would have to leave their hiding places. I'm not sure if the phrase came from the animals looking for higher ground or the animals drowning, but it's something along those lines." Drowning. Just what he _didn't_ need to think about on a small island.

"In an unusual way, that seems logical."

Malcolm looked at the maneuvering thrusters, the parts of which were spread out all around. "I suppose the outside tips will have to wait."

"Were they heavily damaged?"

"No, but they were knocked out of alignment, and I wouldn't recommend firing them until they're realigned."

"A wise precaution."

"At least we can expect _Enterprise_ soon."

"It could take several more days for them to locate us."

He sighed inwardly. "It's a pity we can't fix the long-range communications."

"While that is true, we are in no danger."

"I didn't know you were an optimist, T'Pol," he kidded.

One eyebrow rose above its normal resting place. "Then you are not the only one who is 'full of surprises.'"


	5. Day Five

**Day Five**

Malcolm woke up with a start to a _thunk!_ He had been in the middle of a strange dream, wherein the crew of _Enterprise_ was entering a battle. Oddly, he was at the communications station, Hoshi was at the science station, T'Pol was manning the weapons, Travis was in command, and, most inexplicably, Porthos sat at the helm.

Brushing the images aside, he popped out of bed and found T'Pol in the forward compartment with a padd. "What was that?"

"It has begun to hail," she replied.

"That must've been a large chunk."

"Indeed. I would recommend against leaving the shuttlepod." Another _thunk!_ made her idea sound wise, but Malcolm didn't relish the thought of being cooped up for another day. He checked the chronometer and discovered he'd been asleep for close to seven hours, so it was time to get up for the day.

He couldn't see more than a meter beyond the window of the shuttlepod, since the sun had barely begun to lighten the bottom of the horizon and the clouds were obviously thick. Hail was coming down, bouncing off the hull as it went. The outside section of the maneuvering thrusters would have to wait. Malcolm didn't particularly see a need to get bruised repairing thrusters that were still useless without engines. His skin had just recovered.

"Should we finish these berries and nuts for breakfast?"

T'Pol put her padd aside. "I see no reason not to."

"What was that?"

"The beginning of my mission report."

That was about all there was to do while hail was bouncing off the hull. "I think that this may be the most excruciatingly detailed report I've ever written."

"I doubt that Captain Archer will appreciate that."

He chuckled and started peeling a nut. "Maybe he'll take my suggestions more seriously."

"What suggestions are those?"

"More spare parts in shuttlepods, for starters. A weapons upgrade and stronger hull plating as well."

"I am not certain that those upgrades could have prevented this situation. However, the likelihood would have been increased."

"I also considered recommending that we keep novels in here for when there's nothing else to do, but I doubt that Starfleet would find that amusing."

"Probably not," she agreed.

They finished breakfast and went back to mission reports. Malcolm sighed and made himself comfortable.

The hail eventually petered out. Malcolm, eager to leave the shuttlepod, opened the hatch and looked at their bowls. One was filled to toe brim with water and a few pieces of hail. The other had been knocked on its side by a larger piece. He picked it up.

"I think I'll go get some shellfish for lunch." It wasn't quite time for lunch yet, but he figured by the time he dug and boiled his food, he'd be hungry.

T'Pol picked up the empty toolkits. "Perhaps the storm washed debris to shore that would be of interest." Malcolm smiled to himself. Most beachcombers just picked up what struck their fancy, but not T'Pol. She tried to find things to put under the microscope.

They walked over to the other side of the island, where the shellfish were more plentiful. Malcolm started digging, and T'Pol picked up various pieces of driftwood, shells, and sponges. Malcolm pocketed a sponge for himself as well, hoping that he could take a literal sponge bath later.

He found two shellfish that were clearly a different variety than the others, but they were safe to eat so he dropped them in the bowl with the others. T'Pol was still picking up things, so he wandered over to the stream, rinsed off the shellfish, and filled the bowl with fresh water to boil them in. Then he proceeded to wash out the sponge and wash his face.

Just as he was about to start in on his arms, T'Pol called out, "Lieutenant?"

"Yes?" Malcolm looked over. She was intently examining both her tricorder and a particular spot in the water.

"I have found something of interest." He walked up and saw what she'd found. It appeared to be a large bone, though he couldn't be sure.

"Is that a bone?"

"I believe so. Will you help me move it?"

He gulped. The water was at least up to his knees, and he knew that riptides could form that close to land. T'Pol obviously saw no danger, but his pulse raced at the idea.

Not wanting to expose his weakness, Malcolm nodded and took his boots off.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Off came his socks. "Rolling up the legs of my pants so they don't get wet."

"A logical preparation," T'Pol agreed. She copied his actions on her own suit.

"Humans have been doing it for hundreds of years. It's called wading." Maybe if he sounded confident, she wouldn't notice his unease.

Following T'Pol into the water, Malcolm reminded himself to breathe. _We're just going to pull out the bloody bone and then go back to land. Nothing is going to happen. _They strained to pull out the bone, and it moved a few centimeters.

"This is heavier than I anticipated."

"I think there's more of it under the sand," he answered, reminding himself again that he was not going to drown while T'Pol was right beside him.

They heaved again, and the massive bone moved. He'd been right, there was more buried in the sand. Twin streams of sweat raced down Malcolm's forehead. _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. _His mantra didn't provide much help against the knot in his stomach.

Finally the end of the bone came out of the sand, nearly knocking Malcolm on hisback in the process.

"Are you ill?" She looked quite concerned.

"No. I'm fine, thanks." The rest of the trip to shore was easy, and in short order Malcolm found himself on the beach. He hurried to the dry sand and sat down, trying to hide the way his hands were shaking.

"If you are not ill, why have you become so pale?"

His heart raced in his chest, and then he saw T'Pol pull out her tricorder. Putting his hand up to block the instrument, he relented. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

"You clearly know more than you are explaining."

Malcolm decided to confess before she pulled rank. "You can't tell anyone."

"Medical information is confidential."

"It's not medical, exactly."

She raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. "It's just that…"

"You fear the water," T'Pol completed.

He corrected her. "Not water. Drowning. How did you know?"

"Your elevated heart rate, shallow breathing, trembling…"

"I get it. You can read me like a book." The day was not going well for Malcolm. "It's stupid and embarrassing, so I would appreciate it if we could just leave it at that."

"Is anyone else on _Enterprise_ aware of this?"

"Captain Archer knows."

She nodded. "I will not speak of it again."

"Thank you."

T'Pol went over to scan the long, curved bone. Malcolm sat on the beach until he stopped shaking and his pulse returned to normal, then he picked berries until she was done.

On the way back, T'Pol filled him in on her discoveries. "I believe that what we located is a bone from a large aquatic mammal."

"A whale bone." He'd seen those only in museums, which suited him much better than dragging them out of the ocean.

"Indeed. I have a sample of the bone for further analysis."

The topic of his phobia didn't come up again, thankfully. T'Pol was probably curious about that irrational fear, but she respected his privacy. That made them even, because he still had questions about the Vulcan marriage things she'd mentioned.

She looked at the bone sample under the microscope while he boiled his shellfish and sponged the saltwater off his legs. "There are no comparable species on Vulcan," she declared, "although I believe in Earth's past there were."

Well, at least one of them was having a good day. Malcolm cracked open the two different shellfish first. They were chewier. T'Pol settled herself upwind of the seafood to eat her bagel.

He found a surprise in the larger of the two chewy shellfish. "There's a pearl in here." He washed it off with the sponge before handing it to T'Pol for examination. It was a perfectly smooth white oval.

"I once heard several female members of the crew discussing pearls, but I have never seen one."

"No pearls on Vulcan either?"

"No. It is an interesting object, but I fail to see why it is used for adornment."

He shrugged. "You'd have to ask someone else about that."

"It appears that you now have a souvenir," she remarked as he put the pearl in a pocket.

Zipping the pocket shut, Malcolm said, "Hoshi might like it. She could probably explain jewelry to you, too."

"I will ask her when we return to _Enterprise_."

He reached for a berry. "Do you have jewelry on Vulcan?"

"It is occasionally used for ceremonial-" T'Pol began, but then they heard their communicators crackle. "_Enterprise_ to Reed or T'Pol."

She was faster at flipping her communicator out. "T'Pol here."

"Are you and Lieutenant Reed safe for the time being?" asked Archer.

"Yes."

"Is there food you can eat?" Malcolm didn't like where this conversation was headed. Why didn't the captain say a shuttlepod would be down in twenty minutes?

"Apparently you are on a moon claimed by the Gref- Hoshi?"

Hoshi's voice came on. "The Gresfeshkiurwouzh, sir."

"That's the race that attacked us, Captain," Malcolm piped up.

"They want to talk with us before we rescue you."

Malcolm groaned. "They fired on us for trying to look at the same comet!"

"They've agreed to leave all weapons on their ship. I'd like to try talking first. Especially since they have four ships."

"That's why they didn't pursue us. They were using us as bait." Berating himself for not thinking of that, Malcolm stabbed the ground angrily with a shell.

"Malcolm, try to relax. They seem more concerned about protecting their territory than killing anyone. We'll have you back soon."

"I know you will, sir."

T'Pol spoke up. "We will be fine, Captain, although haste in the negotiations would be appreciated."

"Trip told me to hurry up and get you back. We'll contact you again as soon as we have news. They don't take kindly to a lot of communication between you and the ship.Take care of yourselves." With that said, there was nothing but silence.

Malcolm thought of many adjectives to describe the paranoid aliens, none of which were favorable. He cracked his next shellfish with much more force than was required.


	6. Day Six

**Day Six**

Malcolm sighed and looked up at the sky. Only a few wisps of clouds floated across the blue. It was a lighter blue than Earth's sky, but the scene reminded him of country vacations when he was younger.

On vacations, he had books and toys. Now all he had was a nearly-completed mission report. T'Pol had finished more meditation and was compiling a report on the island's ecosystem.

He decided to go out on the proverbial limb. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"I may choose not to answer."

"Fair enough," he nodded. "Both of us decided not to do what was expected of us in life. You chose not to follow the expectations of your society. Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you made a different choice?"

"I attempt to avoid considering what might have been, as I cannot change the past, but on occasion I am reminded of these alternatives. With T'Pau leading the government, I am no longer considered as harshly as I was by the High Command. However, the opinions of many people will take a generation or more to change, and I will always be outside of mainstream Vulcan society. With Trip, I cannot be considered otherwise. Despite this, I do not regret my choices. I am content with my life. Do you regret the choices you have made?"

"I don't regret them," he said after a moment. "I know that I made the best choice for myself when I joined Starfleet, despite my father's insistence that I join the Royal Navy. Sometimes, though, I wonder what my life would be like. I'd have married a good British girl and raised proper children, a son to continue the Reed naval tradition, and never left Earth. Probably would've been miserable my entire life, too."

"Then you are correct. You made the right decision. I do not see the need to reflect on alternatives."

"It's hard to explain. Part of it is having so much time here."

"Our situation allows time for introspection." T'Pol paused, and added her personal thoughts. "I am pleased that you chose Starfleet."

Malcolm was trying to figure out how to respond to that when the need to respond was eliminated. "_Enterprise_ to T'Pol," came Trip's voice suddenly.

She pulled out her communicator. "T'Pol."

"I can't talk too long. How're you an' Malcolm?"

"We are doing well, although both of us would like to return to _Enterprise_."

"We're workin' on that. These guys've practically built a religion around comets, and this one's their favorite. Are there any systems in the shuttle that didn't get fried?"

"We repaired the maneuvering thrusters yesterday. Short-range communications and most of the science station's analytical capabilities were undamaged, and Lieutenant Reed managed to repair life support, although not strictly in an approved manner."

"Thrusters – that's got potential. Okay, the other thing is that Hoshi convinced them to let us beam a care package down."

"Please thank her for us."

"I'll do that. Tell Malcolm that they didn't bring any weapons over here." Trip paused. "I can't wait ta get you back."

"A feeling that I reciprocate," she said warmly. Well, warmly if you knew T'Pol. Malcolm was pretty sure that some Vulcans, hearing that tone, would've had a heart attack. He was trying not to listen in on what was clearly a more personal conversation, but it was rather difficult.

"You take care of yourselves down there, and we'll see ya soon. _Enterprise_ out."

Almost as soon as Trip closed the channel, a small storage bin materialized a couple of meters away from them. Both Malcolm and T'Pol walked towards it.

"We should scan it first, in case they're being forced," he suggested.

"There is no deception involved," stated T'Pol. Malcolm knew that she took security seriously (often more seriously than Captain Archer), so he watched as she opened the cover. It had to be something to do with the marriage bond. Was it easier to share information when they were physically closer? He wondered, but refrained from asking.

Two trays and two padds were in the storage bin. T'Pol lifted the first tray out and pulled back the lid. "Tomato soup and pineapple upside-down cake." She looked at the other one. "Both trays have the same contents." Each also contained a spoon and a fork. "This tray has a larger piece of cake. I believe it is yours."

"I see they made a meal of our favorite dishes," Malcolm commented, eyeing the cake appreciatively. His piece was twice a big, but T'Pol wasn't much for sweets. "How thoughtful." He preferred a good beef stew over tomato soup, but he wasn't opposed to tomato soup. Besides, there was that wonderful-smelling cake for dessert. "Should we eat before looking at the padds?"

"The food is at optimal temperature now, and it's nearly time for our midday meal."

"Well, that's settled." He stirred his soup and lifted a spoonful to his mouth. "Chef is a talented man."

"Yes," agreed T'Pol after tasting her soup. "His culinary skills are admirable."

She was just starting her cake when Malcolm finished his and took out the padds. The first had a novel that had just come out and the text of Anatole France's classic _The Gods Will Have Blood_. Putting that down, he pulled out the other one. Vulcan characters jumped out at him. "This one's obviously for you." He handed it to her.

"It is the latest scholarship on the Kir'Shara," T'Pol observed. "I am interested to see how others interpret the writings. Trip must have put this together."

Malcolm read the summary of the novel that would've been found on the back of a book. "I think Travis had a hand in picking out this novel, but historical novels aren't his style. Hoshi probably included France."

"You got your wish, then."

"Yes, I did. Better late than never, right?"

"_The Gods Will Have Blood_ is an evocative title among human literature," she noted. "What is the book about?"

"I've never actually read it, but I've heard of it. The action takes place during the French Revolution."

"I have heard this revolution mentioned. Perhaps you can explain to me why it is considered significant."

Malcolm tried to come up with the best way to answer. He enjoyed history, but it was more of a hobby than anything else. "The French revolted against a monarchy that was unable to provide for the common people, and they tried to form a republic. Things got out of hand, though – mass paranoia came up, and thousands of innocent people were killed for treason they didn't commit."

"This does not seem like an episode of history that humans would want to study."

"At the time most people in Europe lived with few political freedoms. What they tried to do was admirable."

T'Pol considered this. "I often find the intricacies of human history to be somewhat difficult to understand."

"If it's anything like trying to understand these aliens, I can see why. Not that I mind the care package, by why can't we just leave?"

"Learning about other cultures is an integral part of Starfleet."

"My job is to protect the rest of you while you learn about other cultures."

"Did you join Starfleet to protect others?" She asked the question in such a way that he could answer in depth or brush it off.

"My mum thought I joined Starfleet because it was the opposite of the Royal Navy," he admitted. "That was just an added benefit, though. I joined because I wanted to know what else is out here in the universe. I just didn't expect it to be so hard to understand sometimes."

"You heard of the Forge, did you not?" He nodded, and T'Pol continued. "Early followers of Surak said that walking through it was a humbling experience. I believe that the same could be said of our mission."

"I agree. The universe is so vast that you'd have to have a tremendous ego not to be humbled by it."

"Yet there are still many who do not understand that. Both of our worlds have recently proved that fear and pride are powerful, even among those who will not concede their motivations."

Malcolm let a small smile curve his lips. "There are people on Earth who have said that, if you want to be wise, you have to first admit that you know almost nothing. Until I came out here, I never understood that."

"Those individuals had great insight."

"Yes," he agreed, "They did."

After that, both of them turned to their new padds and began reading. He would still rather be on _Enterprise_, but at least he had something to read. Shortly into the first novel, he was unable to keep a laugh from bursting out.

T'Pol looked up. "I did not expect a book on a revolution to be amusing."

"This is the other book. I'm pretty sure Travis picked it out. The jokes are just the kind he likes: bad, but funny."

"It is a humorous book?"

"Very humorous."

"Trip is fond of humorous books. I rarely understand them, however, he is attempting to instill an appreciation in me."

"How's that going?"

"He has given up on jokes that "play on words," but I find spontaneous remarks to be more amusing."

"You appreciate the higher forms of humor."

"There are levels to humor?"

He shrugged. "Some kinds are more mature than others."

"I did not find "knock-knock" jokes to be amusing."

Malcolm could imagine that she would not.


	7. Day Seven

A/N: PadawanMage, I forgot to tell you in the last chapter, I've completely made up the Gresfeshkiurwouzh. Alien names always seem too easy to pronounce, you see. ;) Thanks so much to everyone who's read and reviewed this story. It's been fun to write and I'm glad you've enjoyed it. I've never had this many reviews before!

A/N 2: I couldn't help myself. There's a reference to potential R/S here.

**Day Seven**

Malcolm was easing from sleep to wakefulness when he was jolted into the waking world. "_Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod Two," came Hoshi's voice.

His eyes flew open and he beat T'Pol to responding. (This was probably because she was still asleep until the comm. beeped.) "Reed."

"We have good news," reported Hoshi. She sounded cheerful but tired. "The Gresfeshkiurwouzh have agreed that we can tow Shuttlepod Two back. Travis and Trip will be down in an hour or so."

"Excellent news," he replied, swinging his feet onto the floor.

"There's just one catch."

"What might that be?" asked T'Pol.

"You have to leave the moon in the same vessel you landed in."

"What?" Malcolm yelped. "It's a miracle we landed in one piece, and they expect us to fly through the atmosphere again? We don't even have engines!"

"The Gresfeshkiurwouzh insist, sir. Shuttlepods One and Four are going to tow you back, but you both have to be in Shuttlepod Two."

"Dare I ask why?"

"The balance has to be maintained, sir."

He would've cursed the aliens, if he could pronounce their name. "I don't suppose the balance would allow us to repair the shuttle before we leave? If Commander Tucker came down with a few engineers, the shuttle could probably be ready in ten or eleven hours." At that point, the shuttle wouldn't be ready to go far from _Enterprise_, but he'd feel a lot better flying off the island.

"Unfortunately, no technology is allowed on that moon."

"As we landed here, there is already technology on this moon," pointed out T'Pol.

Archer's voice came in. "And the Gresfeshkiurwouzh aren't too happy about that. We've spent countless hours convincing them that we're not hostile as it is."

"I thought they were just interested in comets." The more Malcolm learned about these aliens, the less he liked them.

"We've also given them information on every comet we've ever come across," supplied Hoshi. "This moon is a pristine observatory for them, and they don't want it disturbed."

"If Shuttlepods One and Four come down, this will be added technology." Malcolm couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. T'Pol continued, "Would that not violate the ban?"

"Well, technically they aren't going to land on the moon." Hoshi really did sound quite tired. No doubt she'd been instrumental in the negotiations. That seemed to happen quite a bit. "They're going to hover over you, grab on with the grapplers, and pull you back."

That did not make Malcolm feel any better. He was going to be in a badly damaged shuttle, flying over an ocean, supported only by grapplers. It wasn't going to be a good morning.

Archer sighed. "This is the only thing they'll agree to."

"We will bring all of our supplies into the shuttlepod," asserted T'Pol. "Please inform us when we may expect Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather."

"We're looking forward to getting you back," concluded the captain. "_Enterprise _out."

It took no time at all to bring everything into the shuttlepod, and then there was nothing to do except wait. T'Pol was intently studying her writings, but Malcolm found himself reading the same passages of his novel over and over. He sighed and put the padd aside.

"We will be 'in good hands,' Lieutenant." He figured T'Pol had picked that phrase up from Trip.

"I know, but I'd rather be in good hands and an undamaged shuttlepod."

"That does not appear to be an option. However, I am certain that if Captain Archer felt that there was a substantial risk, he would not have authorized this method."

Malcolm grabbed the last two bags of water, both half-full. He handed one to T'Pol, trying his hardest not to think about the ocean he'd be protected from only by a damaged craft. Unscrewing the cap, he lifted the bag. "To good hands."

T'Pol raised her own bag, despite a look that showed her confusion at his decision to propose a toast. She echoed, "To good hands."

After drinking, Malcolm sighed again. "I suppose that we're going to have to convince everyone this wasn't a vacation in paradise."

"Trip will require a great deal of convincing," she admitted.

"I'm sure you're up to the challenge."

"Should I need assistance, I will ask you." She paused for a moment, looking a bit uncertain as to whether or not she should continue. "While I spend my extended periods of free time with Trip, I have found your company to be quite satisfying."

Malcolm smiled. "I've enjoyed your company as well."

"May I ask a final personal question before we leave?" She waited for his nod. "You intend to give the pearl to Ensign Sato. Could that not be interpreted as a romantic gesture?"

"I suppose it could," he replied, reflecting on how much his friendship with T'Pol had deepened. His feelings for Hoshi weren't exactly common knowledge.

"You do not find that prospect disagreeable." He didn't say anything, so she continued. "Trip has expressed a desire to 'double date' at some point. Perhaps in the future this will be possible."

"Perhaps," mused Malcolm. "You don't have to stop, you know. Asking personal questions. We are friends, after all." He'd learned that friendship and co-working weren't mutually exclusive. It was amazing what the Malcolm of five years ago would've thought of the present Malcolm.

"I do not 'make friends' easily. However, I am honored to consider you among my friends."

"The honor is shared, then."

The comm. sprang to life. "_Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod Two. We're ready to launch."

"We can't wait to get back," replied Malcolm.

"Shuttlepod One, all systems go," reported Travis.

Trip jumped in to the conversation. "Shuttlepod Four, ready to launch."

Malcolm could imagine Archer nodding, and then Hoshi's voice came on again. "You're cleared to launch."

"Here we go!" said Travis, just loudly enough for the comm. to catch it. He clearly was looking forward to the challenge.

Trip broke a charged silence. "I'm in the atmosphere. Descent is stable. Travis?"

"Right behind you. I'll go around another pass to give you more time."

"Approaching the coordinates," Trip reported. "I've got you in sight…here comes the grappler." The grappler hit the aft of the shuttle with a _thunk_! that reminded Malcolm of the hail. He also knew that this was the trickiest part for Trip, to keep Shuttlepod Four basically hovering over them.

"I'm coming in," piped up Travis. "Are you clear, Commander?"

"The nose is all yours."

"I'm in position…releasing the grappler." Another _thunk_! hit the shuttlepod. Malcolm was not looking forward to what came next.

"You might wanna hold on in there," advised Trip. That didn't help ease Malcolm's anxiety. He was glad that they hadn't eaten breakfast. "Ready on three, Travis?"

"Yes sir."

"One…two…three!" Malcolm clenched his teeth as Shuttlepod Two groaned and then, after what seemed like an eternity, left the ground entirely. He suppressed all thoughts of what could happen if the grapplers didn't hold. Maybe they were at least over land by now, but he really didn't want to check the window. Besides, as damaged as the shuttlepod was, it might not make a difference if they crashed into the ocean or land, since the navigation controls had shorted out once they landed a week ago.

"Ascending steadily at two kilometers a second," Travis reported.

"I'm matching speed."

Malcolm did not like feeling helpless. He noticed that T'Pol was sitting at the navigation station as though she could do something. She probably didn't like the situation any more than he did; she was just better at hiding it.

"Ready to leave the atmosphere, Commander?"

"Whenever you are," said Trip. He sounded much less nervous than Malcolm felt. Of course, the combination of being in an intact shuttle, and lacking Malcolm's nearly paranoid tendencies (as much as he denied that particular label) would probably help there.

"_Enterprise_, we are out of the atmosphere. Permission to engage in Step Two?"

Archer's reply was immediate. "Go ahead, Travis."

Malcolm could feel the shuttlepod turn. "I'm disengaging the grappler," said Trip. That left Travis with his trickiest maneuver: getting both shuttlepods into the docking bay. "You're on your own, Travis."

"Here we go." For a moment, Malcolm could see the nacelles glowing out the window.

He could almost breath normally again. Shuttlepod Two would slowly be pulled by the planet's gravity without help, but at this point the main grapplers on _Enterprise_ could hold on to them if Shuttlepod One's smaller grappler let go.

The sound of docking securely on the floor was music to Malcolm's ears. Once Travis retracted the grappler, Trip slid Shuttlepod Four in.

"Nice flying," commented Archer from the bridge. "Commander, Lieutenant, it's good to have you back."

T'Pol got up and moved towards the hatch. "We are glad to be back."

"See you in my mess after decon. Chef's making blueberry pancakes. Bridge out."

"Well," Malcolm said after leaving the shuttlepod and enjoying the feel of his feet on the solid deck of _Enterprise_, "I may not consider that a vacation, but I've had worse experiences being marooned for a week." If one considered Risa, he'd had worse vacations, too, but he tried not to think about that too much. Besides, it really was more Trip's fault than his own.

"Indeed," remarked T'Pol, "Our experience was not entirely without its benefits."

Malcolm considered their stronger friendship and then fingered the pearl in his pocket. "Not at all," he agreed. They walked away from the shuttlepod towards the decon chamber. "From now on, though, I'm bringing a good book in shuttlepods with me."


End file.
